Chapter Text
Nobody could say that she didn’t try.
She had used all of her patience, empathy and resilience. She was a soothing, calm presence with her kind smile and unwavering voice after they gathered back in the Institute. She held hands, hugged, talked, brewed tea, borrowed CDs with particularly peaceful classical music and even kissed some foreheads. Never asked for any gratitude, even when the professor himself had to take a couple days off to recover and she had to run the whole Institute by herself. Statuesque, white-haired graceful protectress, bringing comfort and stability.
She was the one to let Piotr Rasputin stay in after the Russian came to ask for help, she was the one to find a mutant-friendly therapist for Jean. Her biggest success was undeniably making Evan come back and convincing the Morlocks to accept food deliveries twice a week (forcing HYDRA to let X23 live in Bayville was all Wolverine’s doing). Then she helped with countless homeworks, petitions and college applications, talked to the parents, signed piles of documents, and managed the Institute's finances. Alluring Vestal, caring for her temple, her home, her people.
When Xavier came back, she expected things to fall into normalcy again, but it turned out that Charles needed a little of her time too. She gave it to him: she was giving out her time, attention and energy all day long, hoping that she’ll earn a full night’s sleep in return. Pills administered by Hank worked only for about a week, then the nightmares came back in full force. Logan was the first one to ask about how she is, but it was really easy to brush him off and redirect his attention back to Laura. Evan readjusted pretty quickly and urged her to take some time to care for herself, but she assured him she liked to be busy. It was taking her mind off the things she would rather not think about. Stoic, dutiful priestess, standing tall and looking unfalteringly.
She wasn’t too proud to ask for help. She remembered how she poured tea for herself and Charles when she asked if they could talk about becoming horsemen. She also remembered how cold Charles’ answer was. She pretended that she wasn’t hurt and Xavier pretended he didn’t see her spilling a bit of tea when her hands trembled. She did not expect that, quickly realizing there’s nobody else she could turn to. There was no denying that the Apocalypse event left a mark on all the X-Men, but their experiences were different. Besides, kids were used to her being their rock and she started to feel herself crack. She masked the cracks with smiles and extra care.
***
Signing documents, talking with Rouge, advising Logan, teaching yoga class, helping Evan with meals for Morlocks. Signing documents, talking with Laura, advising Scott, coaching Kitty through her panic attack, making schedules, helping Evan with meals for the Morlocks, making sure that Hanks gets some sleep. Teaching self-defence class, signing documents, talking with Scott who fought with Logan, making sure Bobby makes it to his appointment with an ADHD therapist, teaching yoga class, making schedules, talking with Piotr, convincing Jean to give the newcomers some space, paperwork, helping Kurt with his visa. Going with Amara to her doctor’s appointment, hiring a new physical therapist for Charles, stopping a fight between Ray and Bobby, checking on Rouge, advising Logan, making the time to drive Jamie to his parents. Helping Charles with press statements, making sure Laura does not sneak out of the Institute at nights, teaching yoga class, paperwork…
***
She tried again, but Charles did not change his mind.
‘I’m sorry, Ororo’ he shook his head slightly, ‘I don’t want to do this. I can’t.’
‘Charles, please…’ it was hard to find words, to tell him how tired she is all the time, how she hates nighttime, because sleeping means either horrible nightmares, leaving her drenched in sweat or taking a handful of sleeping pills just to get about five hours of muddied, fuzzy dreams that often left her disoriented. How sometimes she’s fighting the urge to scream. How almost anything can trigger a feeling of utmost terror, how terrified she is of her own thoughts, how burdened she feels.
Xavier sat a tad straighter.
‘You seem to be coping just fine. Why do you want to open that wound again?’
‘I know that you feel vulnerable as well, I-’
‘Ororo, look’ Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose. Storm knew this gesture too well and felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t the only one tired here, long sessions with Jean alone were enough to make him exhausted. `We all appreciate what you do, truly, but we can’t afford for you to have a breakdown caused by reminding yourself of all of that. Maybe you could take some days off next month.’
Ororo took a sip of her tea. This particular blend of Earl Grey was supposed to be sweet, but all she could taste was bitter.
‘We all have to make sacrifices to keep us strong together’ Charles looked almost irritated by her lack of reaction. She realized that he waited for her to express gratitude.
‘Of course’ she let her voice come back to the kind, calm tone she used with students’ parents.
‘If we are done with that, let’s talk about current matters. Did you get a…’
***
Two months after defeating the mad mutant Ororo decided to call it an early night and drew herself a nice, relaxing bath. Even if the lavender salts did not make her nightmares go away, they smelled really nice. After ten minutes or so, she got out of the tub, wrapped a clean towel around her body and turned to face a mirror.
The woman that looked back did not remind her of the Ororo from before. She was tired, dark circles under her eyes grotesquely large in this harsh light. Angles of her face strange and unfamiliar: newfound sharpness to her cheekbones and jaw, creased forehead, something different about her lips as well, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Hair was still thick and long, but lacked that trademark shine. Ororo focused her gaze on her wrist, holding the towel: a bone protruding from the skin. Even her hands were looking different. She forced herself to look herself in the eye again.
Storm was never ashamed to admit that she takes pride in her appearance. Of course, her looks were never the most important to her, but she simply felt good when she was feeling beautiful - and vice versa. She believed it worked both ways - her good mood making her skin glow and her steps lighter. Now it was like she was all of that fear, hurt and pain seeping through her pores and the exhaustion materializing as the dark circles.
A little flame of anger rose in her chest. Apocalypse took away her sanity, her sleep, her sense of self. If anyone wants to call it a wounded woman’s pride, so be it, but she’s not going to let him destroy her beauty.
Two months after becoming Apocalypse’s puppet, the Weather Witch decided it’s time to cut the strings. This time, properly.